Exile in Shameville
It’s easy, though sometimes uncomfortable to not grow as a person. Sitting in Shameville, not trying new things, at least you know where you stand with yourself. It’s not hard to do the same, seemingly pointless things every day… to watch the days pass and to feel your self-respect slowly slip away, especially when you didn’t have much for yourself to begin with.
But eventually you get to a point where you realize that entropy cannot continue. Life simply does not abide that sort of stalemate of the soul.
And so you get to where I am right now.
You realize you’ve forgotten how to have fun. You spend too much time stuck in your head. The calculus of “importance” and “purposefulness” of every action you contemplate paralyses your actions. You recognize your unwillingness to make messes for fear of imperfection and dislike of cleaning up after them. You see how you’ve worked yourself into a million mental trick boxes, such that you cannot progress towards any meaningful goal, over and over again, and realize that if you do not make some difficult changes to your way of thinking and way of acting, you’re not going to have a life worth living. Or any life at all, when even eating falls into the category of “things you aren’t doing for yourself regularly anymore.”
Too Much Information?
There are times when I question the sanity or correctness of writing about my messy mind and life in this blog – but then I think of all the speeches I’ve heard by Brene Brown about shame and about vulnerability… and I keep going.
I have to think that by opening up and sharing that I can somehow help someone or connect on a real level with others. All I know is that it comes from the heart, and that writing, for whatever reason, is the one “pipe” of humanity that is not clogged for me. So, I let it flow… and I hope that good things will come from it.
What I do know is this: when I write, I am not lonely. When I write, I do not feel that I lack purpose. When I write, I feel like I make sense somehow — that if I have to exist as I do, at least I exist for this.
Does that mean that I’m having fun writing? Or does that mean that it’s fulfilling on some deeper level? All I know is that I feel like I’m digging for some kind of deeper insight — some sort of buried treasure — something to make all of this “worth it.” Like I’m trying to bring meaning to my existence through daily reporting.
I do wonder what I can do to up my “fun” quotient, though, in all honesty. I want to know how I can stop judging my every action and just let myself live and try new things… be messy and make mistakes without flipping out on myself. I can be patient with other people. I know I should extend that friendliness to myself. But there I go again saying the “s” word.
Current Default Setting: Sad, for no apparent reason
I want to break the habit of being sad. I recognize that my life situation is very good. I have a wonderful, loving husband and am living in conditions where I do not have to financially provide for myself. I am surrounded by musical instruments to practice, books to read, video games to play, TV to watch, sewing to learn, good food to cook, and yoga to practice. I have nothing but opportunity to practice being grateful and happy. Yet, every day, shame stops me from practicing instruments, anxiety stops me from cooking, and lame excuses stop me from the rest.
My challenge, right now, is changing my mindset and actions so that I can flourish.
So far, I’ve stopped wanting to kill myself. I think I’m headed in the right direction. Slow and steady wins the race.